


The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker

by Cavaticarose



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, Origin Story, Ruthless (Mass Effect), Sole Survivor (Mass Effect), Triple Drabble, War Hero (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 04:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10506561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavaticarose/pseuds/Cavaticarose
Summary: A cool guy mentioned a cool thing about the Mass Effect work history backgrounds. The idea stuck with me, so I wanted to take a stab by writing a 100-word bit that tied in the idea.





	1. The Butcher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eurodox59](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurodox59/gifts).



She was never _cold_ , exactly. Terse, maybe. Deadly, definitely. Never one for small talk. Always in a hurry, except when it came to her armor, guns, and those model ships she collected. She always needed to get the job done.

Even if it cost lives.

No one ever dared to say (to her face) that she sent them to their death. No one questioned the harsh action taken, _needed_ after the Blitz. Humanity needed to send a message. Needed to prove themselves to the galaxy. Needed to prove they could get the job done.

So of course, they sent her.


	2. The Baker

Kid was humble; people almost felt bad for hating him. The guy was perfect. Crack shot, smart as a whip, and then the bastard was caught at the wrong place at the wrong time.

And made a hero for it.

No one ever questioned just why he was on Elysium. He saved countless lives! He singlehandedly saved men, women, children, offered hope, and saved lives. Anyone who told the story glossed over the fact that the guy was covered in frosting, flour and eggs. Giving sweets to the scared children made a better tale.

He just wanted some damn donuts.


	3. The Candlestick Maker

Light em up, she used to say. When it came to batarian pirates, throwing back shots, or smoking cigars with the crew, she’d always wink, smile and say, light em up.

Then she was stationed on a dingy little rock of a planet, and she stopped saying light em up one day.

She blamed herself. Rocked herself to sleep in the dark. Kept rooms cold to keep memories of hot acid at bay. She tried to move on, but the darkness almost swallowed her. Until one day.

She lit a candle on their graves. Light em up, one last time.


End file.
